Born third of four, far‑north summer sun, New faith, new house, old ghosts on the run. Brother wore the halo, never missed a mark, Sister was my mirror—flint throwing sparks. Then came baby sister, soft as a prayer, I teased and I guarded—always right there. I didn’t hear it all, but I felt the floor, That slow kick in my chest sayin’ love wants more. Dad’s hand was heavy, same line for us four— No bad intent in it; all this made me more. Hard‑of‑hearing kid, reading rooms by feel, Me and my old man—steel against steel. Mama only calmed me, never made me sore, I carried nameless thunder till it shook the door. I didn’t hear it all, but I felt the floor, That slow kick in my chest sayin’ love wants more. Dad’s hand was heavy, same line for us four— No bad intent in it; all this made me more. Time moved out of town, beds went quiet and clean, Kids with kids for parents, doin’ best we’d seen. I forgive the thunder; I can see the score— Broken doesn’t mean you can’t belong to more. Now we call each other, laugh about the noise, Brother still steady, my sisters with their joys. We’re a little bent, but closer than before— Wouldn’t trade the making for a different door. I didn’t hear it all, but I know for sure: That slow kick in my chest is love at the door. If I could tell that boy curled up on the floor— “Hold on—what you’re feeling’s making something more.” Third of four… far‑north wind. Rough as we were, we belonged.
